


The Ocean Sings Our Song

by Areiton



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst, Bonding, Bullies, Childhood, Consensual Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Illogical Spock, Kid Fic, M/M, Mind Meld, Pon Farr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 12:07:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10020128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: Sybok was his first defender.His first friend.His first love.It was only logical he be the first to break Spock's heart.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This, friends, is what happens when:  
> 1\. I watch Star Trek V and remember how wonderful Sybok is.  
> 2\. [Catchclaw ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/search?utf8=%E2%9C%93&work_search%5Bquery%5D=catchclaw)watches Star Trek V and ponders how Sybok affected Spock.  
> 3\. We ponder this together.  
> 4\. I have a weekend off.
> 
> I should maybe apologize but I'm really not sorry.

 

There is blood on his lip. He pokes a tongue out, tastes it and frowns.

Schools his expression to blank neutrality.

His face throbs and his hand hurts and the taste of copper and salt sits heavy in his mouth. I’Chaya shifts behind him and Spock pets him until he stills.

The door opens and he hunches down a little, his shoulders drawing up.

“Hiding from me, baby brother?”

The voice is light and teasing and his frown reappears.

He doesn't want to see any of his family but his brother…

“Spock.” There is shock and fury there, emotions so easy to read that it almost sparks Spock's own anger to meet it. He licks his lips, copper bright and glares up at Sybok.

“Who was it?”

His brother's eyes are shining and furious and wildly alive.

Sybok is unlike any Vulcan he has ever met. Sometimes, he wonders if it is a choice. To prevent Spock from feeling even more alone. That is as unlikely as it is illogical.

“Spock,” Sybok says, his voice edging towards rage. I’Chaya stirs restlessly  in response to Sybok’s anger.

“It does not matter,” Spock says firmly, turning his eyes down. “They said nothing that was not true.”

Sybok glares and his hand twitches toward Spock’s thin wrist.

Brown eyes flick up to find his brother's dark gaze, sharply reproachful.

And it makes Sybok sigh.

He promised two years ago. A few months after a seven year old Spock was bound to T’pring, he stumbled home, shaking and trying desperately to maintain his composure. He'd fled the touch of his mother and hid in his room, trembling.

Sybok had found him, because Sybok was always the one Spock allowed close. He'd sat near enough that Spock could feel the familiar heat of him, but not so close that he was touching.

“She won't stay out of my mind,” Spock whimpered.

Sybok breathed a curse and wrapped a blanket around his brother. Tugged the still shaking Spock into his arms and murmured, “It will get easier, baby brother.”

Spock was silent, his body trembling and Sybok whispered. “I will never enter your mind without your consent, Spock.”

Even then, Spock knew that was rare and strange promise for Sybok. It had drawn him from the nest of blankets to stare at his brother and Sybok smiled, gently, “And I will teach you to shield, so she can't traipse where you don't want her.”

Sybok sighs now, and his hand falls, harmless between them. “Was it me or Amanda?”

Spock clenches his hand in I’Chaya’s fur and doesn't answer the question.

Sybok, then. If it were Amanda, Spock would share if only because Sybok would share his indignation.

He tugs lightly on Spock's foot. “Let me see your hands.”

Spock scowls but presents them and Sybok laughs. “Did you hurt the other boy at all, little one?”

Spock jerks his hands free and kicks at Sybok and some of the tension in Sybok eases. Spock is never more human than he is with Sybok, and he knows how much that pleases his older half-brother.

“Come on, Spock,” Sybok says, standing and extending a hand. “I'll spar with you. I don't want you coming home bloody again.” Spock hesitates and Sybok adds, just a hint of pleading, “It will upset her.”

A look of wry amusement fills his eyes for a moment and then he nods and takes Sybok’s hand.

 

* * *

 

 

The wind is picking up, making the small stones of his mother’s garden stir with an almost musical clatter. He frowns, and brushes a spray of sand from the screen of his PADD. He’s not ready to return.

It’s been three years since Sarek moved the family from the country home outside of ShiKahr, and even though he enjoys the city itself, enjoys the museums and libraries and the access to better labs than the country home of his childhood, there is still the distasteful fact that he must interact with his peers more frequently.

The embassy is almost palatial, and it was practical in all ways. There was always something happening, a quiet hum of energy and conversation as the ambassador’s staff went about their duties.

It wasn't as if they were intrusive. On the contrary, they were almost standoff-ish to Sarek’s family. It was that they were _there,_ stripping him of privacy and the quiet refuge home had always been.

When they resided in the country, home had been the safe haven where Amanda and Sybok were. Where even Sarek was accessible, almost smiling at his wife and speaking quietly with his sons, until Sybok goaded him into debate and the conversation turned hot and Sarek’s eyes warm and soft.

Here, surrounded by his staff, Sarek is unbending, cold and distant. Amanda laughs less.

But Sybok--the difference in him is baffling. Almost frightening. Wilder and tense, itching for an argument and prone to disappearing for days.

He has always been emotional and inclined to teachings that Sarek coolly dismissed. They argued, in the quietly logical Vulcan way, often. As Spock grew older he realized his brother was not like other Vulcans, was as much an outsider as he himself was.

Sometimes he thought it was because Sybok wanted Spock to feel less alone.

Strange, that they were united in this, with Amanda. A house full of oddities and outcasts.

He stopped listening to his brother and father fighting two years ago, when he was thirteen and Sybok left Vulcan for almost a year.

Sybok’s choices were his own. Illogical though it was, it was no less so than Sarek’s love for Amanda and Spock’s own human emotions.

He shifts. The dust is swirling, stronger now. Spock sighs and stands, unfolding his lanky frame from the ground and moving toward the house.

Three of his father's staff were in the central room, and Spock nods politely as he skirts pass them. He is halfway down the hall when one of them murmurs something and the other two jump to respond with pertinent information.

It should not bother him, how very alone he is. It leaves him time to read and study, to pursue experiments he would not otherwise have time to indulge in.

It is an advantage, his solitude. He decides to return to his room and an mathematical theorem he left unresolved when he departed in the morning for his studies.

An arm snakes out, hooking around his neck and pulling him closer. “You look sad, little brother.”

Spock sighs. “I am sure you are wrong.”

“Lonely then,” Sybok says, and Spock shifts. Uncomfortable that Sybok can, always, call him so quickly on his half truths.

“Come with me,” Sybok says and Spock's feet dig in.

“I have a theorem,” Spock begins.

“Spock,” Sybok says, a gentle tease and he sighs, looking at the other man. His eyes are bright and affectionate but there is something else there.

Something like worry. “Please, baby brother. Come with me.”

He sighs, and Sybok makes a sharp noise that sounds suspiciously like victory. It makes Spock's lips twitch in an almost smile and he doesn't notice his Father’s aides watching them with wide, curious eyes as Sybok tugs him through the embassy.

Not even Amanda is allowed this kind of behavior. He put physical distance between himself and his mother when he was ten and her constant worry and concern battered his mental shields. He knew it hurt her and knew also she understood the reason for it.

It pleases Spock that Sybok had never felt that same urge and would often be found hugging his stepmother spontaneously, sparking a pleased smile from her before he darted away.

Sybok leads Spock to the chaotic disarray of his bedroom.

“Sit, brother,” Sybok says, flapping a hand at the bed. Spock arches an eyebrow at the command but obeys, curious to see what Sybok has planned to draw him from his melancholy.

Spock has always associated Sybok with emotion. Maybe because he revels in his instead of abiding by the strict bounds of logic, or because for his whole life, Sybok has made it his goal to make his younger brother give him that twitch of his lips that passed as a smile.

His memory is full of moments like this, where he waits for Sybok to produce something to entertain and amuse him.

And Sybok doesn't fail.

He produces a chess board, and grins at his brother. “Play with me?”

Spock feels his pulse leap at the words, at the glint in Sybok’s eyes. It feels like _more_ and he cannot quantify why or what it is that makes his breath catch as Sybok watches him, half reclined in the messy sheets of his bed.

Oh.

_Oh._

Spock feels that laughing gaze slide down his body, almost against Sybok’s will, before he licks his lips and rips his gaze away.

It happens so quickly that he could dismiss it.

If it were anyone else, he would dismiss it.

“play with me, baby brother,” Sybok teases and Spock permits himself one half smile, head tilted down and coy and is gratified to hear Sybok’s breath catch when he peers up at him through the fringe of his eyelashes.

He never remembers the game that follows. But he doesn't forget the day.

He doesn't forget Sybok’s unwavering stare.

 

* * *

 

 

Sybok is angry.  

He's always been angry, emotional compared to the Vulcans Spock sees everywhere. He laughs and he teases, he loves with an open fierceness, he rages and argues so passionately that Spock can't look away.

Vulcan is glass smooth logic and Sybok is every raging storm, every flaming star, everything wild and untamable.

And Spock could not look away. He had tried. He had spent four years trying to look away.

It was a slow thing--stolen glances. Half acknowledged thoughts. The weight of Sybok’s eyes on him.

And jealousy. Illogical, but undeniable, when Sybok returns home with green bruises stark against his skin, his lips bright and pouty and bruised and Spock is left to wonder who made his brother look like this.

He knows that Sybok is just as fascinated as he is. Saw in the way Sybok watches him and the way his breathing will catch sometimes, when they spar. When he arrives back at the embassy and finds Spock stretched out on his bed, reading, their chess game set up and awaiting him.

It pleases Spock, that he can affect Sybok like that. And it infuriates him that Sybok refuses to act on it.

To ignore something they both wan is the very height of illogic.

And yet.

Sometimes, he sees Amanda watching him and Sybok, concern in her wide brown eyes, and Sarek watching impassive, something like worry skating along their familial bond. And he is grateful that Sybok has the sense to stay away and discreet, even when he wakes up aching and perplexed and watches his brother with cold jealousy.

But right now--Sybok is locked away in his rooms. Where he’s been for two days.

Sarek and Amanda are off planet, on a diplomatic mission for the High Council and Spock--Spock sits outside his brother’s door with his PADD and waits for it to open.

It’s when he hears something crash into the wall and Sybok’s scream, that his patience breaks. He slams into the door twice before it gives under the weight of his body, the pressure of his shoulder, and he stumbles into a room that should be familiar--messy and chaotic and Sybok, his scent his apparel his random ‘shit’ as he liked to call it, tossed about haphazardly.

It is nothing like that. The room has been destroyed, the curtains torn down and shredded, clothing ripped. The odds and ends he had accumulated, the incense burner that was given to him by T’Pau, the ceremonial glass that was a gift from his mother--all of them are shattered, shining shards on the ground.

The bed where Spock has spent so many afternoons, waiting for Sybok, is in ruins.

It looks, very much, like a wild animal tore through the room in a fit of rage.

And for the first time, Spock feels something like fear in his belly. He immediately schools the emotion, controls and suppresses it and takes a step into the room.

“Sybok,” he calls, carefully.

Movement. Just a small shift of shadows, and the blink of something dark and gleaming.

But Spock could recognize Sybok after decades, a stranger on the far side of the galaxy. Finding him in the quiet of his room--that is child's play.

He skirts the worst of the destruction, and sees something that makes him pause, for a moment.

Frown.

The entirety of the room has been destroyed, and Sybok huddles in the shadow of that destruction.

But the game of chess--it sits pristine and untouched on a small table that it always occupies.

Something twists in his gut and he takes a step further into the room.

“Sybok,” he murmurs.

“Go away, brother.” Sybok almost groans from the shadows.

He ignores that. Creeps closer until Sybok snarls, and then stills, crouched close but not so close that they are touching.

The older Vulcan is flushed, his hair disheveled and his eyes--they are almost frighteningly blank, and feral.

“Spock,” he snarls. “It's _dangerous_ , little one.”

It makes sense, suddenly. “It’s your time,” he says, suddenly, and lurches forward. “Sybok, you must go to your bondmate.”

His brother laughs, then, an angry, bitter noise. That makes sense too. “No one wants to bond to someone as illogical as I am, brother.”

Logically, Spock understands that. Sybok has chosen a path that does not embrace the teachings of Surak. He wields his telepathy and empathy like a weapon. He is all sharp emotions and cutting words and laughing eyes, and no logical Vulcan would chose that in a bond mate.

Logically, Spock understands that.

But--

“You will die,” he forces out and something like grief flashes across Sybok’s face.

“I may,” he says, cheerfully.

A lie. He is terrified.

“You should go, little brother. I do not want you to witness this.”

That at least, is true.

He stares at Sybok for a long long moment. And then he stands, and neatly begins to undress. He is remarkably pleased that his hands don’t shake. Sybok doesn’t speak while he removes his robes and folds them careful, his practical black underwear that stand out starkly against is skin, all of the layers stripped away carefully until he’s naked and then he kneels next to Sybok, and brushes a finger against his brother’s hand. “You will not die, Sybok.”

“Spock, no-” he whimpers.

Fascinating. Sybok, his strong, emotional, unbreakable brother--is breaking.

He scoots forward, crawling on his knees and Sybok groans, his fingers digging into the wood floor. Something like excitement burns in Spock’s gut at that, keeps him crawling until he’s pressed against Sybok, crawling in his lap and Sybok’s hands find his hips.

“You don’t want this,” he whispers, a little frantic.

Spock’s lips twitch in that thing that passes for a smile. “I have wanted this for one thousand six hundred and seventy two days.”

Sybok groans, a protest half formed, and Spock decides that kissing him is the only logical way to shut him up.

Sybok is every raging storm, every flaming star, everything wild and untamable. But when Spock kisses him, he goes still. Utterly. All of that wildness held in check by the tentative press of Spock’s lips, the careful brush of his tongue, a hand sliding into his hair and stroking over his scalp as he licked and nibbled and coaxed Sybok to open for him.

And then he does, and Spock gives a little noise, a tiny mewl of satisfaction and Sybok tenses, his hands going hard and demanding on Spock’s hips, dragging him closer. Spock whines, and Sybok licks it from him, takes the noise and swallows it and comes back for more, until the kiss that was gentle turns, abruptly. Turns wild and fierce, a battle between them, with teeth and lips and hard hands.

 _Pon farr_ is brutal. It’s all emotion and need and biology. For a heartbeat, as Sybok kisses him, sucks at his tongue and bites down, hard enough that Spock bucks his hips against him, he feels a slight frisson of apprehension.

And then a reminder that he is not the only outcast here. They are both strange and other in a world of logic and same.

And he would never condemn Sybok to death for being different.

“Are you sure, Spock?” Sybok gasps, and in answer, Spock catches his hand and brings it to his lips. Sybok’s eyes go lazy and half-lidded as he watches Spock take his first two fingers in his mouth, sucking soft and careful, until he is twitching under Spock, fighting the need to buck against him, and Spock releases his fingers.

His mouth glistens and Sybok’s fingers are wet and _hot_ where they pressed against Spock’s face.

“Are you sure?” Sybok whispers.

Spock smiles, then--not the half twitch he always gives to Sybok and Amanda, the barely there smile that he allows himself when he is with the people he trusts most--this is a smile. Real and wide and breathtaking.

“Sybok.” he murmurs, lifting his brother’s hand and fitting it to his psi-points. Leans into the tentative touch and nods.

Sybok’s voice is a barely there whisper as he breathes the words, ritual and ancient, and then-- _they’re falling and Spock is tangled around Sybok, free-falling into a mind that is brilliant and alive and wild._

 _He has never seen a mind like this--bright colors and casual chaos, a raging see of it  and he shudders in it, in Sybok’s embrace, as waves of_ loveneedadorationlovewantlovedesirelovefriendshiploveneed ** _love_** _crash over him in hues of violet and red and gold and he shudders under it as Sybok’s mind wraps around him and_

His teeth press into Spock’s neck, sucking a bruise there as Spock jerks and writhes against him, thrusting into the hand on his cock, moaning softly, and --

 _He wants more, wants_ everything _and Sybok laughs, a sound like falling rocks and the doors and walls of his mind are thrown open like crashing waves and there it is._

 _Everything Sybok loves, everything he wants. Everything he_ is.

_A deep violet love for Amanda._

_The sweet hue of blue that touches the bond he shares with Sarek that sings of respect._

_A violently crimson that stains every thought of Spock--_ loveprotectloveneedwantlove-- _tinted just the faintest gray in regret._

_A vermilion curiosity about the worlds beyond Vulcan._

_Memories float by on the waves of Sybok’s mind, and every waves carries Spock and Sarek and Amanda, his long dead mother and the need for_ more _._

His fingers are moving over Spock, now, a rough tug and stroke that is dragging noise from Spock, shoving him closer to the edge of pleasure and Spock can _feel_ it and he leans further into the meld--

 _Desire swamps him, a cool breeze of pleading and want and the waves crash down, Sybok laughing around him, and he feeds Spock pale pink desire and_ \--

Fingers press into Spock, and he moans and grinds down as Sybok tucks his face into Spock’s throat, presses frantic kisses and sweet bruises and Spock fucks himself on those long blunt fingers while Sybok opens him--

 _and he can feel himself, tight heat around Sybok’s fingers, can feel the pleasure coming from his half-brother, and he shoves it at Sybok, all his wantneedlovemore_ MORE _until Sybok gasps in his mind, the ocean of color shuddering and--_

he pushes Spock as far away as he can without breaking the meld, rips his robes open and reaches, but Spock is already there, scrambling back into Sybok’s lap, and he swears, sharp and guttural, rocks crashing down in the ocean as Spock wraps a hand around him, and sinks down, taking Sybok in one smooth glide and

_he screams in the meld, or Sybok does, or they both do or maybe it doesn’t matter because the crimson wave is back, and Spock’s aware enough to be afraid as it looms over them, a tsunami of crimson and feeling and love and_

Sybok thrusts into him, kisses him almost desperately and Spock rolls his hips, rolls down as Sybok thrusts up and he makes this noise, so broken and lost that it _hurts_ Sybok, and he wants it again, so he rocks up and yanks Spock down and--

Sybok _Spock screams it in the meld and he can hear laughter laughter laughter, the light of burning stars in his brother’s eyes as the wave crashes down and he--_

comes, shaking and sobbing around Sybok, comes hard and wet and mewling and Sybok wants to snarl, tie him to the bed and make him make it again, and

 _the bond doesn’t so much crash down on them as it_ changes _. The waves shifts, the color deepening to the flaming pink of sunset and twilight and it steadies. Tints the ocean and sky of Sybok’s mind until Spock is everywhere and he shudders in awe and pleasure at that as Sybok--_

thrusts, the bond shifting and strengthening and he fights the urge to scream. Spock is his.

Spock is _his_.

Spock will always be _his._

 

* * *

 

 

They spend three days like that. Locked together, hidden away, until being in Sybok’s mind and letting Sybok in his, feels as easy as breathing and Sybok’s blood cools and it’s abruptly _over._

And everything is different.

 

* * *

 

Amanda is sobbing.

Sybok is screaming, pushed beyond rage, and nothing Spock does is reaching him, not even the bond. The ocean is raging, a harsh melody. 

Sarek is unflinching, untouchable, coldly Vulcan.

“You will leave.”

“He chose this,” Sybok snarls, and Spock wants to say yes. Wants to scream it.

For one illogical moment, he wishes he was as brave as his brother.

“You will leave,” is all Sarek says.

 

* * *

 

“If Sarek sends him away, I will leave. I will follow him.”

It’s a whispered confession and he feels a sick twist in his gut--guilt--even as he makes it.

“Spock,” Amanda gasps.

He names that feeling, controls it. Tucks it away. Gives his mother a blank stare.

“You will lose both of your sons, Mother.”

 

* * *

 

_Don’t leave me._

Sybok sighs and tugs him closer, surrounds him with the ocean that is his mind and their bond, lets the waves sing to him, and Spock presses against him in the dark. He is shaking, pleasure still coursing through him, his release still sticky on Sybok’s skin. He touches it, rubs it into the skin, and ignores the way Sybok watches him.

“It would break Amanda’s heart,” Sybok answers, gently.

Spock can feel his eyes burning. _Don’t leave me._

Syboks kisses him and doesn’t mention the tears falling over his fingers, turning the kiss bitter and salty and wet.

Sybok kisses him until he is calm, and tucks Spock against his side. “Sleep, little one.”

 

* * *

 

 

When he wakes, it is to a screaming pain and a dried up ocean. The whole world feels gray and empty and _wrong._

The effect of a broken bond.

He knows this.

He didn’t realize it would hurt so much.

“He was always going to leave us, Spock.” Sarek says, and he stares up at his father through the blinding pain of losing half of his heart.

He would never wish this on anyone. Not even Stonn and T’Pring. And yet.

“You made him do this.” Spock says, dully.

Sarek doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t need to.

Sybok is gone, and with him, everything wild and untamed and beautiful.

With him, the ocean of love that reminded Spock he wasn’t alone.

With him, the best friend and protector he had ever had.

And Sarek had arranged it.

It settles something in Spock, one jagged broken piece of himself sliding into it’s rightful place.

 

* * *

 

 

He leaves Vulcan a week later, spurns the offer to attend the Vulcan Science Academy while his father watched helpless and resigned.

There is no place for him here. Not alone. Amanda was an outsider, but she found a place with Sarek.

Spock--Spock’s place had been with Sybok and now that was gone.

He left Vulcan behind and he never allowed himself to regret it or look back.

Regret was the very height of illogic.

 

* * *

 

 

Decades later, under the spotlights of an occupied city, _t’hy’la_ at his side, the ocean sang to Spock again.


End file.
